


It Is War

by ForgottenChesire



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle of Five Armies, BoFA, Multi, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:23:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the final battle, but not as you know. The smallest thing can change fate and this time it isn't the Line of Durin that is stricken from the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is War

**Author's Note:**

> This is the requested Battle of Five Armies angst!!! Hope ya'll enjoy

War is nothing like he imagined it would be. Loud and messy, filled with screams of people; Men, Dwarrow and Elf alike, he doesn’t know. The stench in the air, sweat mixing blood, is pungent and almost overbearing. He stumbles, something unseen bumping into him but he ignores it. He has more important things to worry about than something throwing him off balance. His brother, his uncle needs him, so he ignores the pit forming in his stomach that he’s forgotten something important, he ignores the stench, he ignores the screams and fights. He kills any Orc or Goblin that dares to come to close to his family. Dimly as the battle wages on, he worries over the others in the Company. Little Ori who is the youngest of the Company, he shouldn’t have been allowed to come, has his older brothers to protect him and if there is one thing that Nori and Dori can agree on it is keeping Ori safe. Bofur and Bombur have Bifur to watch their backs. Óin and Balin are old but they are fighters as are their younger brothers, Glóin and Dwalin. Gandalf is a wizard who can take care of himself and Bilbo, Bilbo is far away from the battle. The small Halfling was sent away by Thorin, deep in the madness that haunts the Durin line. So he is the safest of them all.

It is only later after his side is aching and blood is dripping into his eyes that he tripped over nothing; it is only when he hears that soft voice yell his name in a panic that he remembers. He watches with dimming eyes as the Halfling they all doubted for so long appear from nowhere to defend him from Bolg, from Orcs thirsting for his blood. Slowly with an aching body his blue eyes search for his family, family he had lost when he was surrounded. A cry escapes his lips when he spots his baby brother laying on his stomach, arrows in his back, his uncle down for the count, his face bloody and caved in. He collapses, reaching a shaking hand out for Kíli but he is just so far away. Softly a hand touches his face, an even softer voice speaks in his ears and he falls into a deep sleep. Bilbo lowers his head, worry for his friends deep in his heart; He won’t let those foul beasts win. He will protect his friends; he won’t let Bolg kill Thorin or his nephews. So he fights, he fights like he imagines the Hobbits of the Wandering days fought. He fights until the sting of metal bites him where the mithril shirt he was gifted does not cover and black takes over his vision.

When Fíli comes to he is laying on his back, body barely aching, taking in what can only be a tent. He tries to sit up but strong hands force him back down.

“Be still Fíli, be still and do not reopen your wounds,” Óin mutters softly his face mournful filling Fíli with dread.

“Who has died?”

“Your uncle is in the doorway lad and your brother may end up joining him.”

“What about the Hobbit?”

Óin stills and Fíli’s heart breaks. No, it cannot be!! Bilbo cannot be dead, he cannot.

“Your uncle was with him before he went… Bilbo was pardoned of his crimes;” the hate, the venom in Óin’s voice startles Fíli “He will be buried in the halls of our ancestors and will be honored and acclaimed as a Dwarrow friend.”

The battle had been won, Erebor was reclaimed. The bards are singing songs of victory already and Fíli hates it. He hates that Bilbo, the Hobbit who had no reason to be here has died, hates that his uncle, finally freed of his madness, was only able to make it up to Bilbo as Bilbo lay dying and is now dying as well, hates that he may lose his brother. He takes a rattling breath to calm his nerves.

“And the others?”

“The company has suffered no other causalities but we are the lucky ones, the Men of Lake Town and Elves of Mirkwood have suffered numerous losses.”

Óin turns his shoulders sagging.

“You should have seen him, laddie. He fought like a true warrior, rough and untrained but with all his heart…”

And with that Fíli understands Óin’s earlier hate. The aged healer didn’t believe that Bilbo had committed any crimes. When Óin finally lets him out of his tent he explores the camp, searching out his baby brother who is starting to pull away from the Halls of Mandos. Kíli sobs loudly when he learns the fate of Bilbo, both of them had become attached to the small Hobbit. He was a great friend, always there to talk and listen. After Kíli he finds the brothers ‘Ri, Dori is moving between his younger brothers mothering them both. Ori has bandages wrapped around his head and Nori has his arm in a sling. Fíli doesn’t stay with them long, just long enough to make sure that they fine and as comfortable as they can be. Next, he finds the brothers ‘Ur. Bombur is manning the camps kitchen, Bifur is standing guard over both his cousins, making sure that no one tries to bully their way into more food and keeping Bofur off his feet. Fíli can see bandages under Bofur’s shirt and he has a leg in a cast. He chats with them briefly, running into Glóin. When he cannot find Dwalin or Balin he heads to the one place he had been avoiding.

He still loves his Uncle, will always love his Uncle but he fears that the madness will still be lurking in him. But that fear flies out the tent flap when he sees Thorin lying in his cot, his head covered in bandages along with his sword hand and his chest. Dwalin and Balin flank his cot and they are speaking in hushed tones that they stop when they finally notice him.

“Uncle….”

“Fíli…”

No words or tears are shared or shed for they are dwarves and they have no need for them. Instead, they mourn in silence and make peace with what they cannot change. When Thorin stands before his people newly crowned and staring down a cheering crowd he raises his hands.

“A great thing has been accomplished here my friends, my kinsmen!!! We have taken back our home!!! Erebor is ours yet again and Smaug is dead!!! We have renewed our alliance with the Men of Lake Town and as we speak they are rebuilding Dale!!! We have made…. Peace with the Elves of Mirkwood!!! Yet all of this came to us at a price. We set out with thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit. We have lost out Burglar, our friend, our hobbit. He saved the line of Durin more times than I care to count and I repaid him with harsh words in my darkest hour. Despite all this he remained a true friend to me; he saved my heirs and me. So as you celebrate, take time to mourn him though you did not know him, for without him Erebor would still be a dragon’s nest.”  
  
Having said all he was going to say he steps back gives a slight bow and retreats regally. Great songs of the Burglar Bilbo are sung throughout the halls and the tale of the Great Quest is well known. In the years before the Quest for the Ring comes to fruition the name Bilbo becomes a popular name for the dwarves of Erebor.


End file.
